


Cake Batter

by sunshinestealer



Category: Codename: Kids Next Door, Homestuck
Genre: AND THEY'RE BOTH EVIL, Gen, THEY BOTH LIKE BAKING ALRIGHT, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 15:47:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11234151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinestealer/pseuds/sunshinestealer
Summary: Father, renowned supervillain, has a baking day with Betty Crocker.(Birthday fic for TheSikorsky from last year. <3)





	Cake Batter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSikorsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSikorsky/gifts).



“I must say,” Father said aloud while mixing a bowl of batter, “I really do prefer my method of baking cakes.”

The Condesce pouted her lips and elegantly crossed one leg over the other, sat at the kitchen table while Benedict worked. “Housewives all ‘round this stinkin’ planet _loved_ me for makin’ a mixture that only required an egg and some water. Bought up all a my stock, hook, line and sinker. You just jellyfish a me, stickin’ to the old ways for no reel reason, guppy. Puff it out your blowhole.”

Father’s form darkened -- he’d never been particularly good at controlling his temper, especially when insulted so personally. A leftover from his childhood, he had groaned to a therapist, back before he had discovered that a good tub of Rocky Road ice cream cured all of his woes better than any psychologist. A small crackle of flames could be heard, sparking up and down his suit as he struggled to maintain control. There was a soufflé in the oven, and heaven knew how much the Condesce would tease him if the noise from his tantrum caused it to sink.

Apparently pleased with herself, the Condesce took it upon herself to look through the recent catalogue of Betty Crocker products. Her business and research teams were doing wonderfully, it seemed, somehow tweaking the formula of the ever-popular Devil’s Food Cake, making it even more delicious and causing a surplus in sales. Of course, one Mr. Benedict Uno had taken note of the Batterwitch’s growing dominion over the baked goods industry.

Father had been infuriated when she first walked into Mr. Boss’ boardroom, like she owned the place. First of all, she had no right being so beautiful -- like all those curves had been poured into a tight-fitting dress that left nothing to the imagination. She had been sickeningly kind as well, pouring drinks at the mini-bar and initiating small talk, with a raucous laugh that could be heard from yards away.

But, Father had to admit, he was impressed with her business acumen. Over fifty years, Condy had built a global empire, and was even moving into the safest, most revolutionary of all investments -- technology. She chattered to Benedict, chuckling at his taste in bow ties whilst discussing her plans for a brand new line of Tiaratop computers. “Plaice ‘em on the head, and wiggl-, excuse me, _kids_ , can enjoy all the benefits of a desktop conchputer from a neural interface. And their… uh... parents can control them for a change! I’m finna get these on the market in the next decade or so, when technology _reelly_ surfpasses what we got today.”

Father had nodded, clinking his champagne flute against Ms. Crocker’s. “Cheers.” She gave an oddly sharp-toothed grin, before whirling off in a sea of long, thick black hair, and the most lurid shade of magenta fabric ever fashioned into a dress.

“Wait,” he had said, blinking. “You said your conchputers,” (she beamed -- Benedict would later learn that nautical puns were _reelly_ \- no, _really_ \- her thing) “Your _computers_ were advanced enough to allow parents to control their bratty children? Even from afar?”

She chuckled something about seeing dollar signs in Father’s eyes. He retorted back that it sounded like a secure investment, and rattled off some ideas. The device could have a mode only designed for learning, with any computers games or idle Internet surfing causing the user physical pain. (She went “ooh” at that, fishing out a flip phone in the shape of a clam and presumably tip-tapping down the idea as a memo.) A remote that parents could switch on at nighttime to ensure that their children were no longer on their computers. Even mild electrical shocks. But, far from just causing harm, Father surmised, the devices could also be forces for good. If one were to define ‘brainwashing’ as ‘good.’

“I’d like you to come over and meet my kids,” Father crooned, as Ms. Crocker hurriedly took down more notes. “I’ve gotten them to behave over the years in a very… particular manner.” He leaned into her, whispering the Delightfulisation process into her ear, eliciting a gasp.

“ _Clam up!_ ” She gasped, incredulously. Then that sharp-toothed smile returned. “Reelly?”

It was certainly hard to believe that Father had first assumed parental authority over those five former KND operatives only a decade ago. He shrugged at some of the machine’s defects, like the bizarre side-effect of it effectively freezing the user at whatever age they happened to be when brainwashed. Still, he had gained five new operatives for his mission to eradicate the foul, anti-adult organisation that was the Kids Next Door. After years of wondering if he’d ever find a partner to start a family with - even after an affair with an overly-maternal demoness with buttons for eyes - he had suddenly gained a whole group of people to act as his family. And of course, he was going to protect it with his life.

It wasn’t until Betty Crocker had arrived at the door of the mansion in a black and pink polka-dotted dress that he was given a clue to her true identity. She came over a lot fiercer than before, quickly uncaptchaloguing a trident and cornering Father in the foyer. Checking to be certain that nobody was around, she switched off the advanced alien device that had allowed her to disguise herself for so long. She was at least a foot taller than Benedict, _without_ those huge orange horns. Her hair flowed backwards from her head in an enormous wavy tangle, and if the members of the boardroom had had any silent objections over the dress she wore _then_ , they would certainly be raising them now. Her teeth were all razor sharp, and some were even serrated. Fins on her face flapped with aggression as she snarled down at her quarry.

And Benedict had never been more in awe of anybody in his lifetime.

 

* * *

 

So, he had learned a couple of things today. The sweet, chubby lady in charge of the confectionary and baking giant Betty Crocker was, in fact, an evil alien empress with a sweet tooth, describing with mirthful glee what she planned to do to the planet in a mere decade or so when her Heiress came of age. Currently, the Condesce gathered that her heiress was around two or three years old. Not the safest hands in which to place the fate of America’s favourite baked goods company.

Benedict wanted to make sure he and his family had a guaranteed seat on the Starship Condescension on the fated day, so he nodded at everything she said, his face a picture of both amazement and terror. Her evil just came rolling off her in waves, it seemed. She could coach half of those good for nothing idiots who attended the Annual General Meetings simply for the buffet table.

Finally, Her Imperious Condescension, Queen of Alternia and Empress of All Its Subjects, asked Benedict to take her towards the kitchen. Or the “kitchfin”, as she termed it. She gave the Delightful Children a good scare, striding down the hallway, one arm looped around Father’s waist and teeth bared to his neck.

 

* * *

 

 Benedict had almost kicked himself earlier, though. He’d regaled the Empress with how much he enjoyed baking, then derided Betty Crocker products to her face. He simply could not abide laziness, and Betty Crocker cake mixes were the epitome of that. An egg and some water? _Please_. Real pastry chefs and cake decorators painstakingly chose their ingredients and combined them with the foundations of a good homespun batter, decorations and icing.

He took a moment to smirk at this chink in her armour, erroneously believing he had gained the upper hand, when clearly, the Empress was sizzling with amusement. She had seriously done her homework too, pointing out just how much her company had succeeded lately, while Evil Adult Industries had reported a drop in share prices over the last quarter. While Benedict grumbled something about the stock market, the Condesce loudly spoke over him about how he could spin-doctor his words all he liked, she had the better company. The company the people of America wanted. Not just oddball adults with a pathetic personal grudge against the Kids Next Door, and enough time to cobble together a supervillain name and costume.

Betty had been content to watch Benedict bake, having delivered a rather effective roast like that. She clicked her pink-painted nails against the wood of the breakfast table, uncaptchaloguing magazines and catalogues to amuse herself with. She sang some obnoxious pop songs too, occasionally looking over to Benedict to see how she was really riling him up.

Father finally poured the batter into two cake tins, shoving them rather irritably into a separate aga. He quickly checked the soufflé, adjusting the timer and slamming his hands down in a cloud of flour. “So. Now those are in the oven, did you want to see the Delightfulisation chamber?”

The Condesce popped bubbles from her lips, content to ignore him. It wasn’t until a bolt of flame came out of the blue and burned up the glossy celebrity rag in her hands that she finally paid her host some attention.

“The shell was that for, flame buoy?” She snapped, matching the aggression in Benedict’s eyes as she came up to him, her muscles coiled and ready to fight.

Oh, dear. A goddess of beautiful, beautiful rage was staring him straight in the eyes, that luscious grin on her painted lips indicating more than just a caged animal wanting to do battle.

Benedict did his best to match her incandescence, but his anger was quick to fizzle out. His powers needed direction, and the confused maelstrom of feelings rushing through his head certainly didn’t help with that. Was this what it was like to be attracted to somebody? The saccharine books and movies he had been subjected to as a child had been all wrong. People didn’t fall in love after a romantic ride on a boat out to a lake, or a few too many gushy displays of public affection. If this was love in the way the trolls defined it, he certainly could get used to this on her planet.

She chuckled and withdrew, a large hand ruffling Benedict’s pompadour as he stood, slightly stupefied. “Guppy, I don’t need no caliginous partners. Had to put down my moray-eel a few hundred sweeps ago, though. Like a stupid, wicked clownfish and barkbeast all rolled into one.”

His mouth was open like a goldfish. He wasn’t sure whether to ask what the heck a ‘moray-eel’ was, or why somebody would be enamoured of a clown whose mannerisms were presumably similar to that of a ‘barkbeast.’ (He mentally facepalmed as it took him a moment to figure out what she meant by that phrasing.)

“Right. The Delightfulisation Chamber. I can… take you there.” He struggled to regain his composure, and the Condesce was no doubt marking it down as yet another one of her personal victories. Her fingers scratched under his chin.

“Shoal me the way, B.”

 

* * *

 

He hadn’t expected the Condesce to burst into a fit of giggles at the sight of the device. “Oh, _buoy_. Ya can affjord this hive, but are you seariously makin your technology outta metal scarps from the dross coffer?”

Father removed any sense of hurt from his tone, having to puff up his chest a little to keep the semblance of what little confidence he had. “This isn’t the perfect version of the machine.”

“So where is it?” The Condesce knelt towards a compartment of the machine, ripping out some wiring. “The shell’s with this ancient technology?” A circuit board clinked on the wooden flooring as she carelessly tossed it to one side. “Bio-cables are a kajillion times betta than this carp, boo.” She tossed them to one side in a huff. Clearly not content with ruling over an empire for millions of sweeps, the Empress had trained herself in some of the finer points of engineering.

“I have five delightful children, a credit to the machine’s success.” Benedict announced, after clearing his throat.

The Empress was happy to ignore him again, emerging from her inspection of the device with a rather disgusted look on her face. “I admire the programming, and that ya managed to brainwash five wigglers over a decade ago. But _I_ am light years ahead a this.”

“Is that so?” Benedict’s eye twitched, uncontrollably. “You’ve been _terribly, terribly RUDE_ since you got here.”

“Sho’re you,” the alien queen countered. “Didn’t prostrate yourshellf beshore me ‘pon first meetin’. Always spoke outta tern. Didn’t play a good host. Just went off to make that stupid, structurally-unsound birthday cake and even compearlained ‘bout my company’s produce.”

“That cake is _not_ structurally unsound!” Benedict said, as if that was the only thing he could object to with regards to what the Condesce had just said. “I’ve done  an eight tier cake before, you know.”

She shrugged, getting back on topic. “That machine ain’t gonna cut it, B. I want you to make me somefin _much_ betta.”

“I CAN’T!” Flames shot upwards from Benedict’s shoulders and arms, and continued to burn brightly as he seethed. “I’ve been trying to recreate the ideal conditions and protocols to make a working Delightfulisation chamber for _years_. Ever since the first one blew up.”

“Then I think I’ll stickleback with the current prototype for my Tiaratops. And thanks for reminding me not to invest quite so much in primitive tech.”

Benedict sizzled, the flames receding. He didn’t feel like defending the technological marvels accomplished by the human race, especially with the knowledge that it was _just_ what the Condesce wanted him to say. Plus, she’d probably rattle off some factoid about trolls discovering starship combustion roughly four millennia before humans even thought to look through a telescope.

Ms. Crocker chuckled, leaning down to place a short kiss on Benedict’s crown. “But it makes y’all humans so coddamn cute. Finkin’ you’re so speshell for basic shit like panwashin’ technology.”

Benedict’s face certainly went aflame at the kiss. Even if it was only supposed to be a show of the Condesce’s dominance over his feelings, he allowed himself to secretly enjoy it. The giantess patted his shoulder, that cackle of a laugh coming out of her mouth again. “So, it was effective the one time. You’ll get there someday, buoy. You count on it.”

He was certainly glad he didn’t have his ever-present pipe in his mouth. It would have fell to the floor long ago, leaving tobacco leaves everywhere. For now, he had the expression of a deer caught in headlights. Was this really what love felt like?

They’d certainly have to get to know each other better in the future.

Father stepped back, checking the time on his wristwatch. “It’s been half an hour,” he announced, trying to keep the lovestruck wobble out of his voice. “Better check on that soufflé.”

Her Imperious Condescension shrugged, making her way out a few paces behind Benedict. “It’s all burned and soggy anywave,” she said, just as they crossed the threshold into the kitchen.

The cakes had sunk pathetically in their tins too. After a few shocked minutes inspecting them, Benedict whirled around, his flame suit burning white hot with anger. However, there was nobody to direct it towards. Betty Crocker was a slippery little fish, it seemed -- and had taken the perfect moment to abscond, leaving a note behind on the kitchen table. 

**_Today was SO MUCH FUN! You reelly lured me in, old buoy. (38D) See you at the next AGM. ---Expect a delivery a Betty Crocker boxes ASAP. Since you’re such a big fan a mine, B-Uno. - Signed, )(er Imperious Condescension._ **

The paper, adorned with pink glitter and inexplicable .gif stickers of clowns crumpled in his hand, but at the same time, he pocketed it. He supposed he would have to throw away both the cakes and the souffle, and make do with the Batterwitch’s convenient yet inferior product. His kids’ birthday party _was_ in two days, after all. So, in hindsight, she had been a lifesaver.

He smeared his hand across the place on his cheek where Betty had laid her sloppy mark of ownership, cooling down by heading into the freezer room and grabbing a tub of Rocky Road. He’d wallow in his chambers for a good long while. It was how he solved his other emotional issues, after all.


End file.
